


that's the thing about illicit affairs

by hexereii



Category: Fantastic Four, Fantastic Four (Comicverse)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:53:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27144817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hexereii/pseuds/hexereii
Summary: Just positing a version of canon in which Reed & Victor have been lovers since college and uh... are both fairly kinky but also in denial about their feelings for each other.Last ficlet for DoomReed Week 2020!
Relationships: Reed Richards/Victor von Doom
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31
Collections: DoomReed Week 2020





	that's the thing about illicit affairs

  
Tucked away in a far tower of the castle complex was Doomstadt's only isolation cell; Latveria had no prisons, there was no justice system in the traditional sense at all, only their king--justice was decided by Doom's will, Doom's law, and guilty parties were held in his dungeons.

The man currently occupying that single, hidden cell wasn't particularly guilty of anything, so far as he knew--except perhaps for questionable taste in lovers.

Once again, Reed focused on his breathing; in the past few hours, he'd discovered that deep, slow breaths enough could ease a little of the unbearable ache in his limbs, though other pains were more persistent.

The cycle was maddeningly simple and brutally effective--Victor's magic (he refused to call it that--technology of some unknown kind, _that_ he could believe) had prevented him from stretching free long enough to trap him here, bound up in a complex arrangement of chains and adamantium bands; the most he could do was squirm a little, though that ran the risk of worsening his predicament overall. 

Starting just after he was secured, Victor had paid regular visits to his captive--clearly with the intention of keeping him on edge. The visits began with a brief examination--to be sure no untended harm was done--but soon enough, he'd feel the edge of Doom's mask digging into his shoulder; hear his low, purring voice murmur in elaborate detail about all the things he _could_ do, things he _might_ do if Reed begged earnestly enough, all while exploring every inch of exposed skin with his hands and... Reed still couldn't call it magic... until his guest hovered just on the edge--and then it all stopped and no amount of pleading would convince Victor to continue.

Dr Richards had reached such a point of sensitivity that even the air touching his skin occasionally felt like too much, especially since he was entirely naked except for the various metal connectors that kept him pinned in place.

Not the first time Victor had left him without a single shred of decency or modesty or--well, clothing--but they never spoke about that aspect of the whole, bizarre, lifelong struggle between them. It was always there, a kind of background radiation that fueled mixed feelings and fed his own guilt, and yet... what could be said about it? 'Sometimes my arch-nemesis uses our encounters as a pretext for kinky sex and I not only but encourage him because frankly, I love it?' True in a general sense yes, but no doubt others would judge--and Reed was, after all, a married man. Father of two, respected hero and scientist, a man who had dedicated his life to the noblest of causes... absolutely no one could ever know that he was, not infrequently, the enthusiastic, willing plaything of Victor von Doom.

Latveria was cold, this time of year. Due to its regional placement, it was always cooler than the States typically were, and even in the dungeons the air smelled faintly of conifers and snow.

He'd been waiting for almost an hour, on this round; the shackles digging into his wrists periodically whenever he lapsed and stopped using his powers. Subconsciously, he clearly wanted to be uncomfortable; the whole arrangement needn't have held him at all, which (he assumed) must mean that he chose to remain where he was, for some reason. 

Maybe it wasn't that complicated after all. Maybe he was just... overthinking it.

  
A distant rattle and Doom's familiar heavy tread jolted his attention back to the moment--the king was approaching, and Reed felt a giddy flutter of excitement that he refused to allow to the surface. Instead, he drew a deep, calming breath and raised his head as proudly as his overtaxed shoulders would allow, ready to face his 'nemesis' as the door swung open.

Behind the mask, Victor's dark eyes were unreadable; they swept from head to toe and back again in a long, unhurried look but Reed couldn't guess at what the man _felt_. Perhaps he was inwardly gloating. Maybe he was just reviewing his plans. That possibility made Reed's stomach flutter again, this time in anticipation.

"Hello, Victor." It was difficult to make that sound casual; his heart was racing and he felt suddenly hot all over, his earlier chill vanishing under that enigmatic scrutiny. "Come to let me go?"

"Hmph." It sounded a little like a huff of muted laughter, though more dismissive than amused; Victor stepped inside the cell and locked the door behind him. As an afterthought, he pulled down the panel that allowed a narrow, barred glimpse of the hallway beyond, making their privacy complete.

"Tell me truthfully, Richards--is that what you want? To be free?" Deftly unlocking his right gauntlet, Victor pulled it off and left it on a long, narrow table. The other quickly joined it and Reed watched in strained, eager silence, almost forgetting that a question had been asked at all.

"N-no," he whispered; there was no reason to lie. Not to Victor. He was practically vibrating with pent-up need and achingly hard for him; flushed and needy. His captor was too observant to miss all those points, and the penalties for lying were, as Reed had learned early on, well past what he considered a _pleasant_ degree of pain.

Unpinning the gold clasp, Doom swept off his cloak in a quick, practiced motion and left it beside the gloves, vambraces next. Reed could hear his pulse whooshing and clicking in his ears and reflected that it would be shameful indeed if he simply fainted from over excitement before Victor had even touched his skin this time, but seeing him undress always had that effect somehow--he had a very attractive body, that was part of it, but there was also a sense of intimacy, of witnessing something forbidden and the promise implicit in the sight.

Underneath the armor, he was wearing a simple black t-shirt and slacks, his bare feet looking oddly vulnerable against the stone floor. He'd left the mask for last but removed it without ceremony, revealing soft brown curls and a handsome face ravaged by deep, mottled scars.

"Beautiful." Reed felt suddenly dazed and dreamy; moved as always by Victor's uncommonly good looks and the rare honor of seeing them with his own eyes. He didn't even realize he'd spoken the inner thought until those eyes focused sharply on him, and all he could do was blush again, keenly aware that he had no clothing himself to hide behind.

Reed was built like a runner or swimmer, all sleek muscle and long limbs, stretched a little further by the metal bands around his ankles and wrists attached to chains that were bolted into the castle wall. Where Victor's skin was nearly bronze, his own was pale, pink-tinged and dusted with a light distribution of freckles. Next to Victor, he couldn't help but feel vaguely... _underdeveloped_ by comparison. He'd had that experience off and on from the very start; in their college days, Victor had taken great delight in demonstrating his physical strength to Reed and Reed had taken an equal joy in letting himself be overpowered--some things truly never changed.

Victor's build was, he'd always thought, more feline than anything else. Sleek despite thick muscle, graceful in a way that men of his build rarely were. He paced like a tiger, feet touching the floor without making any sound at all, and Reed was completely transfixed; watching him and breathing shallowly.

Doom stopped a few inches away and the only thought Richards could seem to hold in his head was how badly he wanted the remaining distance closed. How every nerve seemed to buzz with renewed urgency now that Victor was finally present.

"I was thinking the very same thing," Victor murmured, his accent deepening as it always did when he was aroused. "You are very decorative, in your own way--though it seems a waste to leave you languishing here."

Reed licked his lips slowly, and was half-startled when Victor offered him water; guiding his head back with one hand while the other pressed the cup to his lips. He swallowed gratefully.

(The stray caregiving urges were not uncommon. He knew that. They indicated nothing.)

"Slightly too pornographic for your gallery, though. People might talk."

Victor's smile took on a lethal edge.

"You think they don't? Do you imagine there are no rumors about us, Richards? Not to worry, no one will ever be able to prove any... deception, on your part--your precious public image will remain untarnished; as will Doom's."

Reed squirmed in discomfort, hating that the very genuine shame he felt turned so quickly into a horrible, breathless excitement when Victor leaned closer.

"After all, if anyone knew... we might have to stop."

Up close, Reed could see how intensely focused his love was and a few seconds later, when he reached across to check that the cuffs were secure, felt the tempting outline of his cock hardness press against one hip.

It still came as a surprise, somehow, when he realized Doom wanted this just as much as he did--his pokerface was flawless and to him, it always seemed like a mildly entertaining game of some kind. And really, sometimes it was exactly that but... at other times, the lines blurred until genuine threats became something else entirely.

Half the excitement was in not knowing which kind of occasion he might be walking into, where Victor was concerned.

When his attention returned to the immediate situation, he found that Doom was watching him with amusement and something that might almost have been fondness. Reaching out, he cupped Reed's cheek and brushed a thumb across his lower lip.

"You know what I want to hear, Reed." There was always a degree of thrill attached when Victor made use of his given name like that; he'd been able to partially control his own hardness by focusing his abilities there, as soon as Doom had come in, but now... even that did little to help. And dear god, it _hurt_ \--he'd been wound up for so long, Victor had kept him on edge for so long, that his nerves felt raw. Overstimulated and starved at the same time.

"And you know... what I want--period," he managed breathlessly as Victor's fingertips traced his sternum. 

The hand lifted away; Victor stared down at him without even blinking, lips curved in a faint, mocking smile as he simply... refused.

Reed went from squirming to nearly writhing in a matter of seconds.

"Don't you dare-- Victor, _please--_ " 

One broad palm hovered over his chest, near enough that Reed could feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

"Ple-ase--" His voice broke, tears of frustration welling up now, but Victor only responded by leaning closer until their lips were also nearly touching. Nearly--but not quite.

"Say it." 

Feeling the heat of Doom's breath on his skin was too much entirely; Reed felt himself crumble and give in.

"Master-- Doom-- Please--" Slowing the hitched breaths until he could at least speak more clearly, Reed chattered away, begging desperately for Victor to at least _touch_ him.

For a few agonizing seconds, Reed was left wondering if Victor would simply refuse outright, maybe even leave him chained where he was for the night, then he felt those strong, calloused hands cup his face in both hands and pull him forward and up, Victor growling low in his throat as his tongue delved expertly into Reed's open mouth.

Moaning into the kiss, Reed twisted his head for a better angle and pulled himself up with the shackles for leverage. It should have been embarrassing, he knew, being so openly desperate for more, but he couldn't bring himself to care anymore--not with Victor's cock hard and heavy against his own, the fabric of his pants grinding against bare, sensitized skin and sharp white teeth catching Reed's tongue, trapping it so that Victor could suck at it gently and tease it with his own.

Richards whined at the back of his throat, struggling against the chains to reach for Victor and bring him closer, to keep him still.

He pulled away only when he had to, when he needed to finally catch his breath, but leaving his throat open practically invited the feel of Victor's hand around it, fingertips digging in just beneath the jaw to steady him as their lips met again--his own were left tingling and bruised from the frantic activity. 

Victor's free hand slid along his ribcage and the tense plane of his stomach until it curled firmly around Reed's thrumming erection and everything seemed to go suddenly _still_ for a moment, all of his focus on the wonderful sensory overload that had shut down every other thought in his head.

He was too pent up and he knew it; it would be hilariously quick but there was no helping that. And for his part, Victor seemed delighted by Reed's hopelessly overwrought state; he showed no mercy at all, squeezing so hard that it was almost uncomfortable and delivering short, rough strokes that seemed designed to set him off quickly.

Toes curled to grip against the cold stone floor, Richards focused as well as he could on Victor's face, still babbling whispered pleas. If he stopped again this time, Reed wasn't sure what he would do. Whatever it was would almost certainly be humiliating, that much he knew.

It simply felt too _good_ to stop; he felt oddly safe with Doom, free to be someone he could never be anywhere else.

"Victor!" The loose grip on his throat abruptly tightened, cutting off the flow of air and Reed whined as the climax hit; allowed just enough oxygen to gasp and vocalize, but not enough that the world didn't shift to white, with ominous grey spots pulsing at the corners of his vision. He was dimly aware that he was completely nonverbal now, and the only word he could even think of at the moment was Victor's name--the only syllables that mattered.

Guiding him back down again, Victor let go and Reed pressed forward to nuzzle against the curve of his throat, the whole of him pleasantly abuzz with afterglow.

He continued the affectionate display while Doom opened the cuffs and locks to set him free--they stood together for a few seconds, saying nothing, and then Reed knelt and reached for the zipper of Victor's slacks.

Clearly, all the effort had been worth it; anything that could push Reed into eager acts of subservience were worthwhile, in Victor's eyes, not solely for the sake of his own enjoyment but because...

(A soft hiss through his teeth at the heat and wetness as Reed set to work.)

...Because on some level, Richards needed exactly this. He needed the freedom to be himself in a way that no one else in the world could provide; the arrangement was one of mutual benefit.

He half-hearted, half-felt the moan of longing that vibrated against his skin.

At this rate, he wasn't likely to last much longer than Reed himself had--the man was throwing himself into his task with feverish abandon and even though Victor's hands fisted in his dark hair, he couldn't bring himself to try and hold him back or make him slow the pace.

One sharp, ragged gasp escaped as the glans nudged the back of Reed's throat, another as Reed went lower on the next stroke and the sudden pressure closing around the tip made glitters of light dance at the corners of his vision.

Where had he learned that??

It didn't matter--Victor used the grip on his hair to pull Reed back and hold him there, goosebumps rising as he felt quick gasps of breath ghost across the sensitive skin at the tip; his own breathing was equally unsteady, and a trickle of sweat rolled from temple to jaw without interruption.

"I think we both want something more," Victor noted, pulling him to his feet again. 

The nearby table was at the perfect height; even if shoving Reed against it sent all the stray pieces of armor clattering to the floor.

"Yes..." That seemed to be the extent of Reed's vocabulary for the time being, and that was more than enough to encourage Victor to continue, curling around him and arranging him into the correct position.

The relief he registered when Doom's hands clutched his hips, pulling him back and back as he thrust in with no warning was indescribable--Reed made a hiccupping noise and rocked back urgently into each stroke, gradually silenced by the sheer intensity of the sensation. The rhythmic, grinding pressure of Victor's cock against his prostate, the vulnerability of it all; being filled and spread and fucked because he had _asked_ for it--had begged, in fact, though he barely remembered what he'd said now--and knowing that he had no control whatsoever, that he was entirely at Doom's mercy (and had the aching limbs and soreness in delicate areas to prove it) somehow added a layer of intensity to it all.

How often did he get to really let go, in any setting? Let alone something as intimate as this?

The gasps had become something more like sobs of gratitude and desperation as the tension mounted--half of him wanting to hold back just in case Victor stopped again before he could finish, the rest knowing that holding back had long since become impossible.

Doom curled possessively around him, fingers interweaving between Reed's own and keeping them pinned in place until the first warning whimpers--he let go just long enough to attend to his lover with the same sharp, brutally efficient strokes as before and Reed clenched his teeth as he came, stars sparking at the corners of his vision, thrashing under Victor's weight and gasping his name.

The pace increased, then halted, the rhythm broken into staccato bursts as Victor's own climax hit--Reed felt the slick heat of it fill him and made a low, half-pained noise as the added sensation triggered another surge of pleasure.

In the aftermath, he felt as though his nerve endings had been scoured; as if he'd been wrung out and left empty. He was beyond exhausted but still cocooned in the soft, dreamlike contentment of afterglow; Victor was still curled around him, panting and damp with sweat.

Slowly, he withdrew from Reed and then turned him, scooping him onto the tabletop and holding him practically cradled against his chest for a few seconds in silence.

Sometimes, Victor had these strange fits of tenderness and this was clearly one of those times--Reed allowed himself to be carried to the bed and fussed over, waiting patiently while Victor prepared a bath. He was only guided to the tub, which suited him well enough--he'd never been one for pampering, it always felt like... too much, somehow. Certainly more than he deserved.

Somewhere in the intervening minutes, Victor had washed up and put on a robe--a deep, emerald green one that Reed tugged at idly as he soaked.

There were so many questions he wanted to ask. Why the continued these trysts, after all this time. How Victor could separate this thing between them and remain so unaffected by it--what it meant to him, what insights he may have to why they were both the way that they were, why their innermost desires seemed to compliment so perfectly, allowing them to shift from enemies to lovers and back again so easily--

But Victor was focused entirely on Reed, squeezing the sponge out over his back and then following the soapy water down, lathering gently in small circles that made him feel drowsy and spoiled.

"What's the cover story, this time?" Reed sighed the words, bone-tired and reluctant to break the spell between them, but knowing that if the didn't ask now, he would fall asleep without vital knowledge.

Warm water spilled over his back and shoulders as Victor squeezed the sponge gently.

"Time-travel," he murmured, his focus on the task unwavering. "You gave chase, and of course lost track of what time it was here..."

These were the little moments he lived for, truly--the rest was certainly worth it, Victor had a certain intensity that was frankly addictive, but it was the quiet, gentle phase afterward that Reed always dwelled on later.

Passively, he allowed Victor to finish washing him, delighted--as ever--by the gentleness of his hands and the crisp, pine-like scent of Latverian soap. The king toweled his hair dry; Reed allowed it but finished the process himself, reaching for his own robe--blue with black trim--but not bothering to tie the sash.

"Can I stay here, tonight? I know we usually don't--"

"Yes," Victor said. "Of course."

Reed was stunned by the hasty agreement.

"...Thank you. I'm too... flying would be... I just need some rest," he finished, giving up entirely.

Victor leaned back against the edge of the tub as it drained, hands clutched on the rim. Reed was looking away when he finally moved again, one arm around his waist and curling, to pull him in.

Reed gave in gladly, nuzzling against Victor's chest.

"Remember your first night here in Doomstadt?" Reed blushed red and burrowed against Victor more tightly.

"I recall that neither of us slept," he replied sheepishly.

"Mm." Victor practically purred in response. "And you told everyone you were trapped in the Negative Zone--"

His amused exhalation wasn't quite a laugh, but Reed felt the blush intensify as if it were. Lying to his family, to his wife, was the one part of the arrangement that still troubled him--he didn't see the humor in it, at least.

"Victor... how long do you think we can... really... continue this?"

He realized that his fingers were clenched into the soft green fabric now, holding as tightly as he could. More than anything, he didn't want Victor to pull away just yet, but if he did... he knew that he'd let him. Just as he always did.

To his credit, Victor only moved to stroke Reed's damp hair.

"As long as we choose to," he asserted calmly; it sounded very certain, but Reed had an uncanny sense that the confidence was false.

He pretended to accept it anyway.

"Good," he murmured sleepily before pulling away, tugging his lover toward the bed. "I sleep better here than at home."

Victor couldn't help the faint smile that tugged at his lips; he understood the neurochemistry behind it all, the reason why Reed was suddenly so passive and pliable now, it wouldn't last and he wouldn't have wanted it to, but for the moment, it was... strangely endearing to him.

Truth be told, he slept better when Reed was there too.


End file.
